


The First Dragon Rider

by LovableKillerWhale



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - How to Train Your Dragon Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Gen, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, but then again they're vikings, he's the main character, including Steve, so everyone is a jerk, tony is a bit of a jerk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-08-20 22:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovableKillerWhale/pseuds/LovableKillerWhale
Summary: Steve had always been small and sickly, and his world is big and full of vikings and dragons.Steve had dreamed of killing dragons ever since they destroyed his home. But that is easier said than done. Despite all odds, Steve takes a miraculous shot, and he finds himself face to face with a fallen dragon. He has to make a choice, and no matter what happens, that moment will change his life forever.He can't find it in himself to take the dragon's life.A How to Train Your Dragon AU. Very loosely follows the first movie.





	1. Dead of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragons are back after winter ends. Steve wants nothing more than to take one down.

A thunderous roar cut through the relative silence of the evening, save for Steve's furious huffing and Tony's remarks about it. Instantly, the pair of young boys keeping the fire going at the west forge froze.

"Could it be?" Steve asked hopefully, abandoning his post and wiping the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. 

If Tony saw the cinders that Steve smudged all over his face, he surprisingly didn't comment. Instead, he put on the toughest leather gloves in the forge, and pumped more heat into the furnace.

"Pretty sure that's not the sheep or the fish," the dark-haired boy said sarcastically. Besides the people, sheep and fish were the only life forms on the island of Brook that could survive the winter.

Winter was over, however, and with the spring creeping in around the bogs and moorlands of the island, other creatures returned once it became warmer.

Creatures that no one wished to come back.

"The dragons came back!" Steve exclaimed, almost too excitedly for the dire situation that the dragons brought.

"T'was a matter of time, anyways," Tony groaned as he kept working at the forge, "those darned things find their way back each year."

More roars rippled through the air like waves, mixed in with human screams aswell. There was no mistaking it now.

"Well, I've waited an entire year for this, so it better be worth it," Steve said, dropped the sword he was sharpening, and made his way for the door.

"Woah, woah, woah! First off, it was only a quarter of a year, and secondly, where do you think you're going, Rogers?" Tony shouted, and Steve stopped with his hand on the door handle.

"What does it look like?" Steve rolled his eyes, "Out there, with everyone else!"

"Now that's a gross generalization. Plenty of people stay holed up in their houses or farmhouses or workshops-"

Something outside crashed, as if one of the watchtowers had been tipped over. Steve was getting impatient.

"Yeah, I know. What's your point?"

"My point is that you'll stay right here, where I can keep an eye on you. There's no point in going out there and getting yourself killed, you hear me? That's not gonna help anyone, buddy, and especially not me. If anything happens to you on my watch, Fury will have my head on a spike."

"You're overreacting," Steve rolled his eyes, and went for the door regardless. But before he could even touch the aged wood, the door swung open inwards, and Steve had to jump back to avoid getting smashed into the opposite wall. Which caused him to stumble backwards, and he nobly landed on his butt.

"Hey, fellas," Natasha, who just barged in shouted, her wild red hair rippling like fire. She was hastily dressed in the training leathers, and brandished half of an battle axe that glistened with something that looked like blood. The blade was severely deformed, as if it was roasted by dragon fire. She never looked prettier than in the heat of battle.

"This is what I'm talking about," Tony hissed, as he grabbed the dazed blond on the floor by the collar and effortlessly pulled the small boy to his feet. "The first dragon you see up close is gonna pick its teeth with you, shrimp."

"I don't need your help," Steve angrily slapped Tony's hand away, as Natasha picked through the wide inventory of stored weapons, undoubtedly looking for an even bigger axe.

"That's great, but as a matter of fact, I do need help! There a huge axe somewhere around here? This place is a mess, how do you navigate it?" Natasha yelled from the back, and Tony finally shifted his gaze from Steve.

"Now you stay right here, got it?" Tony told him, and hurriedly turned around to trail after Natasha before she could move around any his 'toys'. "Not fair, the one who makes the mess always knows how to navigate it," Tony shouted after Natasha and shuffled further to the back of the forge.

Momentarily forgotten, Steve damned Tony's order to Hel and brandishing a sword small enough for him, he slipped through the door outside.

Outside, it was chaos.

Huts were burning left and right, and shadows passed over head, occasionally swooping low enough for Steve to make out a scaled wing or a tail.

Before Tony could notice he left the forge, Steve ran through the village pathways, seeking a dragon that would swoop low enough for him to hack at with his sword.

He passed a few familiar faces, but every man and woman was engaged in the fight to protect their livestock from the fire-breathing beasts.

Just as Steve rounded another corner, he came face-to-face with his first dragon. Or well, face-to-back, since the red dragon was looking the other way, stalking towards a trembling group of sheep that it had cornered inside the pen.

It was a Deadly Nadder, Steve quickly determined. He had seen and drawn pictures of it before, but up close, it was a whole different story. The Nadder was one of the smaller species, but to Steve, it was huge. Its spiky head was inching to the sheep, ignoring everything else around it. The spines on its red-and-yellow tail were tucked against the scales, which meant that the dragon didn't suspect any danger.

Grasping the sword more tightly with his trembling hands, Steve willed himself to sneakily approach the dragon's backside. A quick stab to the chest or a swipe through the neck would be more than enough to kill it. If he could kill a dragon, the village would finally see him for who he is. Not the sick, scrawny kid, but a brave and hopeful warrior.

Not only that, both of his parents had been taken from him by the dragons when he was younger. His birth island, Ire, had been plunged into flames by the beasts from Muspelheim. Seeing one of the dragons right in front of him only reignited his hatred and awoke painful memories.

The village of Brook was burning around him just like Ire had in his worst nightmares.

The dragon was hideous, all teeth and claws and muscled talons, but it was also beautiful. Its scales glistened in the glow of the fire and Steve was equally fascinated as he was angry. Despite the burning desire to prove his worth, he found himself hesitating, sword drawn and ready, but unwilling to move. 

It frustrated him deeply. Ever since his home was destroyed, he vowed to slay dragons. He was a boy of fifteen, barely a child anymore, and he knew he could kill the monster in front of him.

Besides his personal reasons, slaying the dragons was the way of Brook and he would never be accepted as a true viking if he just kept his head in the sand.

So why couldn't he-?

That brief moment of reflection probably saved his life.

Because just then, one of the boulders from the catapults barreled into the Nadder, smashing it to the ground. The sheep scattered in panic. The dragon survived the impact, but it appeared severely injured. It tried to get back on its feet, but one of its legs was clearly broken, so all the dragon could manage was to crawl and lean against one of the huts.

That was the moment when it saw him. Steve was frozen regardless, but when the beast locked its beady yellow eyes with his, he was petrified.

It was as if the world shrunk down to the two of them. The sounds of battle tuned down. The dragon stared at Steve with an ancient intelligence.

Steve considered throwing his sword, but he knew that a hit like that wouldn't have enough force to kill the dragon. Instead, the two of them stood at a standstill, Steve trembling in fear, and the dragon steadily bleeding onto the cobblestone.

But it didn't attack. Maybe it was too weak, and that would be the perfect time to-

"What in Thor's name are you doing out here?!"

Instantly, the dragon's widened pupils (when did that happen?) turned to slits and it raised its tail threateningly, the spines ready to rain down on the boy in front of it.

Before Steve could get impaled by the shooting spikes of the clearly not harmless reptile, something smashed into him from the side Steve crashed into the ground with the added weight of another body. The spikes flew far overhead.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, get out of here for Odin's sake!" the sandy haired boy above him shouted, and Steve rolled away from another wave of spikes.

When he looked up, he could see the well-defined figure of Clint nock an arrow into his bow and take aim. But before he could take out the Nadder, the red dragon climbed onto the hut and hastily took off, the night sky swallowing it.

Clint turned to Steve, who would like to get swallowed by the night aswell.

"I can't believe you!" Clint shouted and threw out his arms. "All you have to do is keep your ass inside the forge, and you're unable to do something as simple as that."

"I want to fight too!" Steve shot back, but he knew that Clint or any of the others wouldn't take him seriously. They never did.

"You can't! That's the damn thing, you can't!" Clint replied, and it angered Steve even more.

Before he could argue back, a wave of fire swept down from one of the airborne dragons - a Nightmare, by the looks of the flames - and they both had to jump back to avoid getting burnt.

Now that they were seperated by a wall of fire, Steve took a few steps back. Clint gave him a look of disbelief, as if he couldn't believe how stupid Steve was acting. Which was rich, coming from Clint.

"Don't you dare- Steve! STEVE!"

But he already turned on his heel and dashed out of sight, deeper into the village. If he could find another dragon landed on the ground, he was sure he could take it out. He wouldn't hesitate again.

As he ducked a blast that may had come from a Gronckle, a high-pitched whistling sound took his attention. A second later, one of the watchtowers on his left lit up with a bluish-white blast and went up in flames. Just on the edges of the fire, Steve caught a glimpse of a dark tail disappearing back into the night.

"A Night Fury!" he gasped, and changed directions, heading for the eastern wall. No one had ever seen a Night Fury before, let alone killed it. If he could take it down, the village would have no choice but accept him as a true viking.

Steve couldn't miss that opportunity.

He made it to the palisade, and climbed the ladder. Indeed, one of the watchtowers was on its side, burnt and still smouldering. Half of the wall went down with it, and the length of it was abandoned by the defenders. All of the crossbows were out of commission, broken as if something huge had stepped on it. Only one of the rope launchers remained. It wasn't as lethal as a crossbow, but it would have to do. Steve decided to give it a shot (ha!).

He may had been short, scrawny, and sickly, but if he was good at something, it was taking aim. It didn't serve him well most of the time, since he couldn't even stretch a bowstring to its full length, but he knew this time was different.

He took ahold of the launcher, and aimed it at the blackened sky. He knew how to operate the bad boy, since he had helped construct more than one of them in Tony's workshop.

With much difficulty and using all the strength he could muster, Steve cocked the launcher and waited.

For a blissful moment, all was silent.

Then the sound picked up, and the tower in the south, near the sea, exploded in light just like the first one. Edges of the Night Fury's wings got caught in the light, and Steve followed its assumed trajectory with the tip of the launcher.

With sweat beading up on his forehead in concentration, he aimed and released the string. The launcher jumped back and knocked Steve off of his feet, but he heard a solid hit followed by a surprised roar that matched no known description.

When he clambered back to his feet, he saw a dark shadow fall to the ground, somewhere into the west part of the island.

"I did it..." Steve whispered to himself. He couldn't believe it! 

"I did it!" Steve shouted to the night sky, and laughed in relief and happiness. He took down the Night Fury! He celebrated his triumph by laughing outloud, facing the stars and the moon in all their glory.

It didn't last long.

He didn't realize how loud he was being until he heard an ominous growl right behind him. He carefully turned and arched his neck backwards to look into the face of a very angry Monstrous Nightmare.

Its ugly maw with teeth sticking out in all directions snapped open and Steve had the bright idea to hurl himself to the left before it could close its jaws around him.

He could feel the dragon's hot breath on his neck and hear the jaws clamp shut on the spot that he was standing on a second before. Luckily, Steve landed on his feet and immediately made a run for it. 

He didn't make it far before the dark brown dragon swooped overhead and landed in front of him, blocking his path. The Nightmares had an uncanny habit of setting themselves on fire, and this one was already lighting up with flames.

It opened its jaws to deliver a deadly breath of fire, and Steve had nowhere to hide. He raised his hands in front of his face to provide atleast some cover, even if he knew it was futile. Maybe I should have listened, he thought as he braced himself for the heat.

It never came.

When Steve opened his eyes, he could see the Nightmare had problems of its own. Problems in the shape of one chief Fury, who was engaging the dragon with an axe in one hand and a war hammer in the other. Fury expertly battled the dragon, dodging all its strikes and landing blows of his own. 

One good hit from the hammer into the muzzle, and the Nightmare staggered backwards and probably realized that it wasn't worth it. It took off into the sky without looking back.

A horn blew, signaling that the attack was over and the dragons were on the retreat. 

Before Steve could sneak off, Fury turned to him and stared him down with that one eye of his. His lips were pursed in a familiar way. Steve knew he was in trouble.

"Listen, I-" he started, but Fury raised his hand to silence him. 

"I don't want to hear it," he said, only barely controlling his anger. Steve turned his gaze to the ground instead, lowering his head in embarrassment. He could feel the tips of his ears getting red.

"We'll talk after the damage is assessed. Maybe you should look around yourself and see what you have caused."

Steve opened his mouth in surprise, but closed it again. Fury turned around without another word and stalked off. Steve stood there, and finally decided to look behind himself.

The whole palisade caught on fire from the Nightmare, up to the next watch tower. Not only that, in the wild chase, the Nightmare made sure to destroy all the houses in its way. Atleast seven huts were burning like torches.

Seeing the destruction, Steve finally felt shame bubble in from his chest. He didn't like it, but a part of him knew he messed this up. He was so focused on taking down the Night Fury that he became careless. 

Speaking of which - the Night Fury was somewhere out there. If he brought it back, hopefully he'd be forgiven. But for the time being…

Steve made a mess and Fury would have to clean it up.

Running a hand through his blond hair, Steve set his jaw and walked towards center of the village, where all the vikings were gathering.

Steve already knew Fury would be furious with him (pun fully intended.)

He'll just have to endure it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no TFA characters here - including Bucky and Peggy. That is a thing for a sequel, if I go through with this.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed so far and thanks for reading! <3


	2. After the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets in trouble for his reckless actions, and Natasha is unreadable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I meant to, sorry! Just a reminder, there will be no romance for a long time, but you can probably guess which way this will turn out.

"Nice work, Rogers," Tony sneered and clapped Steve on the back a little too harshly when he finally made it to the late night gathering. "You managed not to die, I underestimated you."

"Back off," Steve snapped back without missing a beat. His good mood was as well as gone now, and Tony wasn't helping. The other children were gathered around, wearing judgemental frowns. Atleast Bruce had the audacity to look neutral, as he cleaned a cut on Clint's arm. 

"That was a compliment, fish bone," Tony shrugged, and leaned back against one if the slightly signed wooden pillars that still stood.

"Yeah? I'll give you a compliment when I punch you in the face," Steve replied through gritted teeth, because he was getting riled up. He made sure to drop the sword so that he wouldn't stab Tony in rage.

"If you can reach that high," Tony smirked, and that was the last straw. Before Steve had to be physically dragged off of the older boy, Fury called his name. He wore his signature frown reserved for times when Steve was in trouble.

"Have fun with the chief!" Tony called after him, and Steve could hear Clint snicker at that comment. Sparing them one last venomous glare, Steve turned on his heel and stalked off towards Fury.

The fires had been put out, so the only light source came from the moonlit sky and the stray torches around the village. Fury was overlooking a list where everyone wrote down what had been damaged or stolen in the attack. Steve didn't miss the length of the scroll. When Steve came over, Fury waved his hand and the gathered vikings were dismissed, off to start reparations.

When Fury cast his one-eyed gaze on Steve, he couldn't help but stare at his feet once more. Out of all the people on this pathetic island, Fury was the only person Steve truly respected and obeyed. Atleast, until today. Joining the battle had been a violation of the order Fury gave him. Indirectly, but still. Damn him, Steve did feel bad for what he'd done.

"Care to explain to me why'd you do that?" Fury asked him, and Steve was surprised at the lack of anger in his voice. If anything, Fury seemed tired, and Steve didn't blame him.

"Sir, I don't have the right to stay back while everyone able risks their life out there. I wanted to help, and I know that I can. I was born a viking too! And I did help - I shot down the Night Fury!" Steve spewed out, and shifted his gaze to Fury. Would he be proud of him?

But Fury remained stoically silent, and only kept staring at him with his hands crossed over his chest.

"I… sir? Did you not hear me? It must have fallen somewhere in the western part of the island, near the Crown Heights. You could send out a search party-" Steve stammered, but Fury raised his hand again, and Steve's words fell silent against his lips.

Fury sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. 

"That's enough. Even if you slaughtered an entire pack of them, but they burned down the village as you did it, that'd be no victory. That means we'd starve and freeze and who cares that they're dead, we'd soon be too." Fury lectured, and as always, Steve let his words sink into his mind. Now he really did feel bad for the carnage he had caused. And it stung to know that it was all his fault. Still...

"But I did it…" Steve almost whispered, and shrunk back against Fury's imposing figure. "I thought…" Steve uttered, but his meek voice voice was inaudible.

Fury placed his hands on Steve's shoulders, and looked down onto the small boy. "What you did today was reckless. You disobeyed an order put there to protect you."

"I don't want you protection," Steve complained with no real malice and weakly attempted to wrench from his grasp, but Fury let him go on his own and shook his head to let him finish.

"No. But you need it, whether you like it or not. You know, when I found you, a little boy in the ruin of Ire, skin stretched over your bones, I made a promise that day. A promise to your father, your parents, to take care of you-"

"You're not my father," Steve snapped, and clenched his fists in cold, resurfaced anger. His past was a sensitive topic. "You'll never be my father."

In a heartbeat, silence fell over the two of them, and Steve knew he had overstepped. He took a few horrified gasps of breath, before deciding for an apology, but Fury beat him to it. This time, his flaring anger was clear as a day. It had been a while since he got Fury this mad, and he hated it. Steve silently wished that Fury hadn't saved him and that one of the dragons would carry him away and rip him to shreds. That would hurt less than the burning guilt that squeezed his heart now.

"I raised you, boy," Fury said after a while, and every word was as sharp as a dragon's claw. "Every night that you spent under my roof and ate my food was only because of that promise. But as the years went on, it became something more. I grew fond of that stubborn little brat. How many times do you need to hear it, Steve? I care about you."

Steve didn't have to be reminded. He knew. Fury never was the loving family type, and that was fine by Steve, it really was. But Steve's heart had been far too damaged when he lost everything, and as much as he admired him and looked up to him, Fury never bothered to try to pick up the pieces. Fury was like vikings were supposed to be - tough, and strong, and ruthless, all the traits that Steve lacked. 

In the end, he remained on the silent receiving end of Fury's glare. Even when he didn't meet his eye, he felt Fury's vision pierce through him. 

"Alright then, be like that," Fury waved him off, and gathered his discarded axe. "You're finished for the night, go home. I'll try to fix what you broke, but don't think this is over just yet. Tomorrow, you'll help out with the palisade."

Steve simply nodded, which seemed to satisfy Fury for the moment. He had no fight left in him, and with the rush of adrenaline seeping out came familiar dull pain. Steve felt drained, and he had been difficult enough.

"Romanoff, see him off to the house," Fury barked out through the night, and indeed, one of the figures gathered on the outskirts of the clearing separated from the rest. 

Steve blabbered about it not being necessary, but Fury already turned his back on him and stalked off to start the repairs. Mere moments later, a small hand clamped around his elbow, and he turned to face Natasha.

"Come on dragon slayer, it's time to go to bed," Natasha said sarcastically, and Steve felt his face heat up. 

"Your hand is bloody," he pointed out as she dragged him away from the crowd, thankfully taking a long route around the other youngsters. She was a lithe girl, but still taller than him. She just smirked at his observation. 

"And?"

"Now my tunic is, too."

"Oh shush, you can pretend it came from some dragon you killed," Natasha offered, and Steve managed a small smile, focused on the paved path that lead to his and Fury's hut. He even avoided the stone that he always tripped on.

"Really?"

"Nah, I don't think anyone would believe you," Natasha replied casually, and Steve's joy dampened once more. What was he thinking? Of course a girl like Natasha still hated him like the rest of the kids. He just never talked to her, because he didn't want to confirm it. And there it was, black on white.

He staggered and almost fell, but Natasha was quick to catch him. 

"Hey, watch where you're going, Rogers," she told him, "or you might accidentally break that face of yours."

"Been there, done that," he replied dryly, as he regained his balance and shrugged off her arms, "Tony thought it would be funny to trip me when I had my arms full of unused sword blades. I'm lucky I didn't get impaled."

"Oh, I remember. The chief was so furious he refused to give Stark dinner that day."

"Serves him right, at least something good came out of it."

That gave Natasha a brief pause.

"Rogers, you're an ass."

Steve actually snorted. He had felt no remorse for Stark then, and he sure as Hel didn't feel it now. "He broke my nose, of course I'll be an ass when it comes to him."

"Can't argue with that," Natasha admitted, and her green eyes lingered on Steve's face for a moment. He offered a small smile that she didn't return.

Girls were confusing. Or more specifically, Natasha, since Steve didn't know any other girls. That were still alive, that is.

Soon, the pine-wood structure on the outskirts of the village came into view. Fury's hut was slightly bigger than the other villagers', but it was still small enough to feel cozy and protective. Steve's second home.

"Well, there you go," Natasha said as Steve used all of his body weight to open the stiff wooden door. Thankfully, it budged, because if it didn't, Steve would feel obligated to jump off a cliff in embarrassment.

"Thanks, Natasha," Steve said, as he rubbed the back of his neck. Cold was already pouring into the small hut, so Steve held the door closed against the wind.

"No problem," she said without a care in the world, but then her face twisted into what may had been a look of concern. "Get some sleep, okay?"

"O-okay," Steve stuttered, and Natasha simply winked at him and skipped down the way from whence they came.

Steve looked after her even after she disappeared from his view. Realizing he had been staring into the distance for an unknown period of time (the fact that the night started to dissolve into morning didn't help), he snapped out of his daze and entered the cabin. 

The fire was long out, and even though it was cold, Steve didn't feel like stirring it. Instead, he climbed up to his bed, and pulled out his notebook from under the furs. It was dark, and since he didn't light a candle, the only light came from the slowly brightening horizon. 

There had been a lot on his mind throughout the night, but one thought had slipped from it altogether: the fallen Night Fury was still out there, and he would find it.

The sleep would have to wait, even if he'd regret it come tomorrow.

Steve grabbed one of the pencils that Fury had fashioned for him, and sketched a crude outline of the island of Brook. Despite not seeing much, Steve was positive the map would suffice. He had memorized it a long time ago, and Steve's memory rarely failed him.

Once he was done with the basics, he outlined the area in which the dragon must had landed. It was a forest east of Crown Heights, and still a pretty huge piece of land, but it was a start.

Shutting the leather-cased notebook, Steve climbed from his bed and down to the main room. In the corner stood a display of weapons. When he was smaller, he couldn't even reach the bottom shelf. Now he still couldn't quite reach the top shelf, but it was no trouble to snatch his dirk from the lower levels.

Another gift of Fury's, though this one had belonged to Steve's real father. It was a small blade with an antler handle fashioned into the shape of a dragon's head. It was blackened around the edges: a reminder of where it came from and what it endured.

He had foolishly forgotten to take it with him when he was called to help Tony with the forge. He had almost always kept it on his person, and now would be no exception.

Tucking the dagger to his belt, Steve went out the back door. If Fury turned up in the meantime, hopefully he would assume Steve had gone to sleep. 

The morning light already rose from the horizon, and the heavy air suggested that there would be a rain that day. Steve hoped he would get lucky, however, because he didn't want to get soaked searching for the dragon. 

_ I'll find it, _ he told himself as he set out into the west direction, the sun rising behind his back.

_ And when I do, _ Steve thought as he placed his hand on the dagger, _ I'm going to kill it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Every kudos and comment is appreciated <3


	3. Down Over Brook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve discovers more than he bargained for.

Sneaking out of the village was easy. Everyone was busy, but knowing Fury, there would be guards stationed at the entrances nonetheless. However, Steve had snuck out enough times to know which path to take. Instead of taking the main road, Steve skipped along a dirt path that led to the pastures and leaped over the shaky wooden fence that held the sheep during winter. Now that the dragons had returned, the sheep were kept inside barns and sometimes, even people's houses. The air there still smelled of sheep, however, a stench of wet wool and rotting grass. 

The pasture was still laced with frost, and there would be no flowers until well into spring, so Steve friskly crossed the meadow in a fast pace. He chose his steps carefully, because now that the snow had almost all thawed, the ground was soft and if he wasn't careful, he could get stuck in the mud. Wouldn't be the first time.

The fence closer to the woods was exposed to the wilderness of Brook, unprotected by the palisades. It was tall, properly reinforced against the occasional wolves or bears who would consider the sheep an easy meal. It was too tall to jump over, and the upper poles were sharpened into spikes, so climbing was out of the question. 

Luckily, Steve knew just the trick. He had had countless practice throughout the years, so finding the spot he was looking for was almost an instinct to him. Just there, near the leaning pine, the space between the poles of the fence was wider than the rest. Too high for a sheep and too narrow for a wolf, but wide enough for Steve to squeeze through.

It was a tight fit, but Steve wasn't that nine year old child that had discovered that flaw anymore. He was a boy of fifteen now, with a frail frame and small figure that he grew to hate. What use were his thin arms when it was time to pick up a sword or an axe and fight with a fury matching the dragons?

_ At least it's good for something _, Steve thought as he slipped through the fence and landed on the moss on the other side. Instantly, it was as if all the sounds were dampened, and beneath the trees, it was still dark. The thick branches barely let the fleeting sunlight streak through their fingers. The reek of sheep was replaced by the bittersweet scent of golden tree blood, and the moist aroma of rotting plants and wet bark.

Despite the lack of light, Steve wasn't scared. Now with the dragons back, the bears and wolves would keep their distance from the village, and the entire south part of Brook. Even those beasts cowered before the fearsome fire-breathing monsters that came from the south. And rightfully so, because a single dragon could easily hunt down a bear or an entire pack of wolves.

Now Steve was the one hunting the dragon. 

He knew the way around these parts without having to whip put his makeshift map, and the stray beams of light pointed him in the west direction well enough. 

When Fury brought Steve to the island, the forest became his hideout. He would take his notebook, slip through the bars and venture into the woods for hours at a time, simply wandering through the underbrush and taking in the air. He had had problems with cough as a child, and it still sometimes crept back to him, but out here, it was easier to breathe. Easier to be himself.

Often times he'd sit on a rock and draw the landscape, only the trees keeping him company. Occasionally he'd even encounter a deer, a scarce sight on the island. More times than not he'd managed to remain so still and quiet that the deer wouldn't startle. In those rare moments, he'd compare the deer to himself. How easy it would be to buck and disappear in the forest at the slightest sign of danger, never to return to the village again.

Thoughts of running away had been tempting Steve ever since he'd set foot on Brook. A life of a viking wasn't easy for someone who wasn't molded into the form for making one. Maybe somewhere out there, there was a place for Steve. A place where he belonged…

_ No time for wishful thinking, _ Steve told himself bitterly. Truth be told, running meant giving up, and if Steve knew something, it was how to keep going. He had gotten this far, and he'd be damned if he backed away now. 

_ If Brook's for vikings only, then I'll be the best viking that I can, _ Steve thought as he gripped the handle of his knife tightly. _ Starting by killing a dragon._

By the time he made it to the western forest, the sun was still peeking out from below the horizon. The mighty peaks of Crown Heights were bright and kissed by the shy morning light of the early sun. 

One would think finding a huge beast wouldn't be hard, but Steve found himself crossing out spot after spot, his map filling with big black 'X's. The hunt seemed fruitless for a long while, and endless wandering through the woods left Steve more exhausted than he'd admit.

For a while, he even thought his cough would return, something that hadn't happened in over a year. Steve suppressed the need to cough and set his jaw, commanding himself to keep searching. _ It would be behind that rock, or that hill, _ he told himself. _ Or the one after… Or the one after that one..._

"Darn it," Steve cursed as another part of the forest turned out to be empty.

"You think this is funny?" he yelled into the void of the wilderness, startling a few ravens that were sitting high in the trees. He wasn't sure if he was shouting at the gods, the forest, the dragon, or the ravens whose screeches sounded like malicious cackling.

"I finally accomplish something, I finally get a chance to prove myself, and you keep it from me?" he ranted to no one in particular, his high boyish voice echoing around the trees. The birds quieted down and the trees became denser, so he swatted at the branches as he marched on further.

"I won't take 'no' for an answer! I've been stuck on the receiving end for far too long! I'll keep going, keep searching, all day and night if I have to-" 

At that moment, one of the especially in-the-way branches launched right back and hit Steve straight in the face. It stung like a slap, and Steve was just angry enough to pull his knife on the tree, but then he noticed something. The rest of the offensive tree was split in half, its honey colored blood seeping down its bark and into the undergrowth. The splintered part of the biggest branch was hanging over and touching the ground. Steve looked further, and he could see other trees damaged in a similar fashion, as well as a deep trough in in the dirt.

His breath hitched as he followed the furrowed path until the ground began to slope down, and there, almost lodged between a couple of giant boulders-

A black, still shape.

Steve instantly pulled at his dagger and held it in front of himself like a wasp's stinger, using what little protection it offered. With trembling hands and heart beating out of his chest, he cautiously approached the huge body sprawled in the tawny ferns and other murky foliage.

He found what he was looking for.

On a closer inspection, the Night Fury didn't look as threatening as some of the other species that Steve had the misfortune to see over the years. The dragon's sleek black body was surprisingly smooth, lacking hooked spines or razor-sharp scales. It also had rather chubby legs and soft frills lining the base of its tail. The dragon didn't even have horns, just ear-like growths circling its slightly parted jaw. 

The dragon was still ensnared in the ropes that Steve launched at it that night, and it didn't seem to be moving. In fact, it looked rather lifeless. Perhaps the fall alone had killed it.

The static silence was finally sliced when Steve let out a giggle in relief.

"I really did it," he said out loud as he ran a trembling hand through his hair. He set a foot on the dragon's muscled shoulder. 

"By all the gods, I did it! I have brought down the Night-" 

The body underneath him flexed and Steve lost his balance. He landed safely on his butt, and quickly scrambled backwards, frantically kicking up moss as he did so. He missed the Night Fury's breath before, but now it picked up. The dragon weakly shook itself, yet the ropes held fast, and after a while, it settled again.

Steve backed away until his back found a boulder and he pulled himself back to his feet. Only then did he resume breathing. Slightly crouched, he cautiously stalked forward, with a newfound respect for the beast. As he loomed over the panting dragon again, with his dagger raised, one of the dragon's eyes split open. 

It was a brilliant green colour, with a dilated pupil that thinned once it settled in the light. And it was staring right at Steve, wide and perceptive. Once his eyes locked with the Night Fury's, the world shrunk to the two of them, dragon and boy, two souls opposing each other.

There was something uncanny in the dragon's gaze, something Steve couldn't place that made his hand shake. It reminded him of the Nadder the previous night, in a way - an ancient intelligence so foreign to man, it'd be like reaching at fog to grasp an understanding. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the dragon was judging him.

Steve licked his dry lips as he turned his gaze to the chiseled dagger in his hand, and he could feel the Night Fury so the same.

"Dragon…" he called to the fallen beast, testing out the word on his tongue. He'd uttered it so many times before, but only now did it gain any real meaning. 

"Now I'll kill you," he continued, and he gripped the handle of his father's knife with both hands so tightly that his bony knuckles turned white.

"And when I do, I'll take off your head and bring it to my- to the chief," Steve stuttered on, planting his feet firmly in the mud.

"I'll finally prove it. They'll see that I'm one of them. I'm one of them!" he raised his voice at the dragon, sharpening his tone with anger. He didn't know if he was yelling atht he dragon, or at himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as he raised the knife high above his head, poised like a serpent prepared to strike and plunge its teeth into its prey.

Steve took deep breaths as he tried to steady his hands and calm the uneasy thrum in his belly. When that didn't seem to work, he snapped open an eye to glance at the dragon.

They were there, face the face, both too stubborn to look away, locked in a standstill. Neither willing to back off first, waiting for the other to make a move.

Were the dragon's eyes always that green and reflective, or was it just the sun beams growing stronger by the minute?

As the Night Fury searched Steve's face, it must had seen something unresolving there, because at last it lowered its head inin surrender and let out a low whine. The eye contact broke off as the dragon lowered its eyelids, clearly resigned to its fate.

Inevitable end by Steve's hand. He'd finally get to kill a dragon… it was the only thing he'd wanted for over six years, and now it was right in front of him, ripe for the taking.

So why was he hesitating, not unlike a few hours ago, when he faced the injured Nadder? Why did his arms not listen to him when he ordered them to move?

The dragon was ready to die… But Steve wasn't ready to kill it. 

He tried to budge his hands into action a few more times, but he already knew it would be futile. Breaking down into a sob, he dropped the knife altogether and fell to his knees. 

He couldn't kill the dragon. Not when it was lying helpless in front of him, at his mercy. Not when it stared at him with those bulging green eyes, or when it whined in defeat like a man would.

No… he'd never be able to kill a dragon, no matter what circumstances. He probably never had it in him in the first place, and some small, hidden part of Steve had always known. But the bigger, louder, and more annoying part of his mind was in denial until this very moment. Now there was no point in pretending anymore.

"This is my fault," Steve uttered in shame and disappointment, hanging his head low. The Night Fury laid there in front of him, bound and helpless, almost stripped off of the only thing it had: its bare life. And it was all Steve's fault.

He kneeled there, by the side of the now calm dragon. It was… peaceful. Taking another glance at his not yet bloodied knife, Steve made a decision.

He reached out with his hand, pulling at the ropes ensnaring the dragon. His fingertips just barely brushed against the scaly skin of the beast as he cut the rope around the dragon's chest and front legs. Next came the wings, and once he set the hind legs loose, the dragon launched into the air as quickly as a viper would. 

Immediately, it turned to Steve and leaped in his direction. Its front feet knocked the air right out of Steve, and he fell backwards, heavily landing on the ground. The dragon pinned him to the ground with its left talon, and that was all the mighty beast needed to keep Steve down. It was incredibly strong, and it was so close that he could see its muscles flexing beneath its black scales. 

Its blunt snout came right up to Steve's face, and the Night Fury's giant green eyes searched his face with apparent judgement. Steve was stuck, he couldn't breathe, and the only thing that mattered was the reflection of the trees and the sky in the dragon's eyes, its slit pupils, the way the scales curled around its eye sockets and turned into a ridge along its forehead. He tried to tale in the last thing he would see before he died.

He couldn't breathe, it was like he was a little child again, bedridden with cough, and now death was descending on him, just like back then. The dragon reared back, undoubtedly for a fatal strike, so Steve weakly braced himself for the end…

The dragon almost unhinged its jaw in a haunting roar so big that Steve could see right inside its throat. Stench of fish and the dragon's spit splattered all around, and then it spun quick as a lightning, and fled into the forest.

Steve gathered himself as best as he could, just in time to see the Night Fury leap into the air in the distance, and fall back to the ground. Its eerie calls rang through the woods long after it disappeared out of sight.

Steve took a deep raspy breath as he shuddered, and stood up, only making it a few steps before his knees buckled and he fell down again. 

His knife laid discarded among the cut ropes, the only reminder that the dragon ever existed. Steve grabbed his knife, and it took him five tries to put it in its sheath on his belt, he was trembling so bad.

When he attempted to rise again, his head spun, and his stomach heaved, so he sat back down before he'd throw up all over the place. 

This encounter shook Steve to his core and he knew it had changed him. Or rather, showed him who he truly was. A coward. There was no changing the weakness in his heart just like there was no changing of Steve's small stature and ilnesses. It was a part of him, and if he wanted to live, he'd have to learn to live with it.

_ First things first, however, calm your heart before it breaks apart from beating so fast, _ Steve thought as he pulled his knees to his chest and tried to even out his ragged breathing.

The black dragon flew around the edges of his mind, now an always present shadow on his thoughts. Was the Night Fury death itself, a herald of Hel that saw him unfit to die? 

Who knew, save the gods? Who knew what happened here today? Why the dragon spared Steve when he was at its mercy?

Steve shook his head free of those questions. That was something he would have to figure out later, on his own... For now, he would have to gather himself to get back to the village in one piece, and before the sun came out.

Because if he came late… he was certain he wouldn't need a dragon to get him killed. Fury would do the killing himself.

So Steve brushed off the mud and spit (ew) off of his clothes as best as he could, got back to his shaky feet, and set on his journey back home.

**Author's Note:**

> This came a lot later than expected, sorry about that! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
